


Blame It On The Alcohol, Or: Aidan’s Favorite Josh

by toldthestars



Category: Being Human (US/Canada)
Genre: Anal Sex, Communication Failure, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:34:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27204601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toldthestars/pseuds/toldthestars
Summary: In the short amount of time--relatively speaking--that Aidan has known Josh, he’s seen so many versions of him. But this, this version right here? This Josh is in his top five favorite Joshes. When Josh gets drunk--and it doesn’t take much to get him drunk--he has this deeply amusing tendency to touch...everything. For no particular reason. Josh is pawing Aidan like he’s made of cashmere. And this is deeply humorous to Aidan. That’s what it is. Humorous. And nothing else...
Relationships: Josh Levison/Aidan Waite
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	Blame It On The Alcohol, Or: Aidan’s Favorite Josh

**Author's Note:**

> She thought to herself, let me write a little "they got drunk and hooked up" fic. 5000 words later....I couldn't help it, they kept talking. 
> 
> Little heads up to some implied homophobia, but nothing explicit or violent, as well as sex under the influence/dubcon. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3

In the short amount of time--relatively speaking--that Aidan has known Josh, he’s seen so many versions of him.

There’s the Josh that gets embarrassed, flustered and pink and stammering out apologies so quickly that they overlap like letters from a broken typewriter. There’s angry Josh, whose features turn dark and whose mouth gets small while you’re busy realizing this guy who’s _usually_ folding himself up like a cheap suit actually has broad shoulders and taut muscles somewhere underneath the plaid button-up of the day and might _actually_ be more of threat than you thought.

But this, this version right here? This Josh is in his top five favorite Joshes. 

When Josh gets drunk--and it doesn’t take much to get him drunk--he has this deeply amusing tendency to touch... _everything_. For no particular reason. Right now, Josh’s face is bright with the joy he gets from telling a story, and while he talks about the “I shit you not, literally unending font of vomit” a patient became at the hospital, one of his hands is wrapped around Aidan’s bicep and the other is just resting on his chest, like he’s bracing Aidan or himself.

The story does not require this amount of touching. In fact, it might actively discourage it. And yet, Josh is pawing Aidan like he’s made of cashmere. And this is deeply humorous to Aidan. That’s what it is. Humorous. And nothing else.

Aidan takes another sip of beer with the free arm that Josh hasn’t grown over like a wayward vine. Josh’s face lights up, as though taking another sip was a brilliant new concept he’d just discovered. He also reaches for his drink--a mojito that he was finally tipsy enough to order after powering through three IPAs that Aidan knew he hated.

Aidan marvels that Josh never has really grasped that going drink-for-drink with his vampire buddy has never worked out for him. Josh is in his own world enough that he doesn’t even seem to notice the few dudes in the bar that are giving them pointed, disapproving glares. They make Aidan sort of want to rip their eyes out so they never get laid on Josh again. 

Josh has stopped talking and Aidan realizes he hasn’t been paying attention. He focuses up and Josh is giving him all the hurt puppy eyes. “I’m sorry,” Aidan says. “You were talking about the font of vomit?” 

“Well,” Josh says, a hint of offense in his voice. “it sounds gross when you say it.” He reaches for his mojito again. He turns his body back towards the bar, meaning he’s no longer touching Aidan, which is...fine. Of course it’s fine. It would be dumb if it wasn’t fine. 

“Hey,” Aidan says, “weren’t you going to tell me something about how Blonde Highlights in pediatrics started hooking up with the gift shop girl?” 

And joyful Josh is back in full force, like clouds parting to reveal blue skies. And the hands are back. Aidan takes a brief moment to enjoy that he is the one who knows how to bring out Josh’s sunshine. And it’s thoughts like that--and lingering glances at the richness of those brown eyes, the soft, inviting lips, the warmth of Josh’s hands on his body--that are absolutely counterproductive and should be quickly and discreetly ushered right the fuck out of Aidan’s head. 

Aidan tries to be a good friend, tries to listen, but his thoughts are drifting back to their little housewarming party, nearly a year ago. Josh had gotten drunk then, too. And handsy. They’d been celebrating, and Aidan had felt so much hope that he almost felt giddy. It wasn’t impossible to get drunk as a vampire, just unlikely. However, that night, Aidan was completely full of a can-do attitude and enough bottles of champagne to send off an armada, so he might have gotten a little handsy back.

And before he knew it, he’d been kissing Josh the way he’d wanted to since he’d saved him in that alley--hands on Josh’s cheeks, cradling his head, pulling Josh’s body to his, feeling his warmth and his blood pumping and just impossibly excited. Head spinning and hungry in a different way, Aidan had done the only rational thing he could think of at the time which was to drop to his knees right in the kitchen and take Josh’s dick in his mouth until Josh was holding himself upright on the kitchen counter with knees on the verge of buckling, leaking loud glorious moans. Aidan had led him to the empty living room and managed—thank God (well, probably _not_ God)--to find some pillows and blankets to throw down so they could keep grabbing and licking and sucking each other until they both came messily, howling each other’s names like animals. 

They woke up the next morning surrounded by empty bottles, their bodies sticky from spraying champagne at each other. 

It’d been a good night, hideous embarrassment and imminent hangovers the next morning aside. Or so Aidan thought. He actually had no idea what Josh thought, because the entire extent of their debriefing consisted of: 

“Last night…” Aidan had said.

“Yeah…” Josh had responded.

“We were…” Aidan gestured to the bottles. 

“Yeah,” Josh nodded, with a wince. 

“I’m--” Aidan had started. 

“It was…” Josh said at the same time, never actually getting to an adjective.

Unable to take the silence for more than three goddamn seconds, Aidan had said, “Yup...so...are we…?”

“Cool?” Josh supplied. 

“Yeah.” Aidan had said.

“Oh, yeah.” Josh nodded. 

“Cool.” Aidan replied. 

In a long history of questionable communication, that conversation had been, _without_ question, the worst.

Of course, then there was Sally, who Aidan had to verbally wrestle into both never telling him how much she’d witnessed of the Asti-soaked affair and to, _dear sweet Christ_ , never talk about the incident with him OR Josh. She hadn’t liked it, but had agreed after making a final declaration that she “shipped” him and Josh, whatever the hell that meant.

And so nothing had ever happened again.

Sometimes, though, Aidan would catch moments of Josh’s gaze lingering on him, or they would exchange small touches that pushed the limit of what could be considered friendly (and that Aidan quietly savored), or--Jesus—there were the times that he could _smell_ that Josh was aroused and wondered if Josh was catching his scent too. Sometimes Josh would get a little trashed and Aidan would bite his lip hoping.

But.

Aidan was also careful. Even if his hands kinda craved Josh’s body like blood, Aidan was very aware of the damage his stupid, terrifying hands could craft if given the chance, so he kept them to himself. Mostly. He was very good at craving things he couldn’t have without causing harm. Mostly.

Right now, though, he’s putting one of his hands on Josh’s shoulder and telling him it’s time to go. Josh has one palm on Aidan’s thigh and the other around his second mojito, and he looks surprised, then troubled by what Aidan’s saying. Aidan thinks he’s going to protest, but instead, Josh just huffs out one deep breath and nods resolutely. Then he goes to use the back of Aidan’s chair to hoist himself up, predictably misses, and lands with his face buried in Aidan’s chest. 

Aidan gives a quick glance around the bar--two of the guys who were eyeballing them earlier are full-on staring, whispering to each other. Aidan rolls his eyes. What he loves about cities is that generally speaking, you can find at least one other person who’s into _whatever_ you’re into. The bad thing about cities is you also find at least one other person ready to judge you for it.

If it weren’t smack in the middle the lunar cycle, with Josh at his most human, if he weren’t drunk, Aidan might give them his best “fucking bring it” face. He’s almost tempted, because he has no problem with kicking the shit out of some homophobic assholes any night of the month, but right now, he just wants to get Josh home.

Aidan doesn’t spare any tenderness even though they’re being watched as he helps an apologetic Josh to his feet and out the door. Aidan pauses a moment, waiting to see if they’re going to be followed and it’s going to be one of _those_ situations, but nothing happens, so he sets off towards home with Josh in tow. 

Aidan’s juggling Josh and his phone--one hand wrapped around the wrist of Josh’s arm, slung across his shoulders for support, and Aidan’s other hand trying to summon a Lyft with the attached arm fixed behind Josh’s back.

“I’m fine,” Josh says, wobbling a little. He leans closer to Aidan, cups his face in one hand. “You worry too much. You’re like my Meemaw with fangs.” Josh laughs at himself, but his hands doesn’t move from Aidan’s face.

“I think I worry just enough,” Aidan says, grateful that he’s too dead to blush. He shoes Josh’s hand away from his face and Josh laughs, before his face turns pensive.

“Those guys at the bar…” Josh says, and suddenly he doesn’t look like sunshine-y Josh anymore. His brow is drawn up in an expression of worry, and he’s gnawing a little at his bottom lip. “You worried about them?” 

Aidan sighs, and feels how intently Josh is watching him. “For a minute, I was worried _for_ them—I thought they might be dumb enough to try to fight us.” He gives Josh a little smirk, and is rewarded with a little scoff of laughter. “But no, I wasn’t worried _about_ them.” 

“You didn’t think…” Josh tries. He stops, licks his lips, and starts again. “What they thought about us...that didn’t bother you?” 

Aidan isn’t totally sure what Josh is really trying to ask. He does this sometimes--asks one thing when he means something else. “No,” Aidan says. “That thought doesn’t bother me.” 

Josh is staring at him, like he’s trying to read Aidan’s mind. Thankfully, the ride appears before Josh cracks the code and sees that Aidan’s thoughts are almost exclusively about kissing him. 

In the Lyft, it takes moments for Josh to crumple onto Aidan’s shoulder. The way he’s positioned, Josh is breathing gently against Aidan’s neck, and Aidan has to bite his lip against the violently rising tide of want that warmth is stoking. Josh’s arm had landed casually over Aidan’s leg, and Aidan can’t help thinking of how close Josh’s hand is...It is the longest Lyft of his long life. 

When they finally stumble inside, Aidan is half-hard and ready for time alone in his room with some porn and self-loathing. Instead, Josh grabs his hand. But when Aidan looks into his face, the spell of Drunk Josh seems to be gone. He’s no longer wearing that thousand-watt smile, the fluidity of his sloppy movements replaced by the familiar caution and tenseness. He pulls Aidan towards the kitchen, continuously casting quick worried glances back at him. “Um,” Josh says, once they’re standing in front of the fridge. “I...I just...I kinda felt like celebrating, you know, on account of, well, one year, and...I, uh, can’t say we didn’t kill anyone, which is…unfortunate…but we’re mostly okay, you know? And I know I have you to thank for all of this, and, um…” 

The anniversary of moving in together. Of course Josh remembered the exact anniversary. Of course Aidan didn’t. Aidan’s heart feels both full and a little heavy.

Josh opens the door to the fridge. Aidan doesn’t understand what he’s looking at, until it finally clicks that the five or six bottles crammed in every spare space are champagne. Aidan feels his eyebrows race for his hairline. 

“Josh?” Aidan says cautiously. This feels like a fragile moment. “Are you...trying to get me drunk?” 

Aidan looks up at Josh, who’s doing that thing, pressing his fingers to his mouth. Josh’s eyes look up towards heaven, like he’s hoping to read his next line on the ceiling. 

“When you say it like that,” Josh says, “I sound like a real creep. It’s--it’s not--I don’t mean to--obviously, if you don’t want to, it’s fine, totally fine, I can never--that’s, I’ll just--” 

“ _Josh_ ,” Aidan says, like hitting a jukebox. 

“I _liked_ what happened the last time you... _drank champagne_ , okay? The last time we...celebrated,” Josh says, throwing up his hands like he’s been caught. “It’s just…taken me an entire year to work up the…hutzpah to say it.” Josh deflates a little. “I didn’t want to ruin what we have here.” Josh waves a hand to indicate their dilapidated little home. “I don’t know if you knew this, but I’ve got a PhD in Ruining Normal Things. Call me Dr. Levison, Good-Thing-Ruiner. I should get to wear a white coat like regular doctors, except mine, the sleeves should tie together in the back.” 

Aidan shakes his head. He knows to see the self-deprecation for what it is: fear. A distraction. Running away. But Aidan’s not taking the bait. Aidan can also have…hutzpah…for Josh.

Aidan turns to him. “Oh, Josh.” 

Josh looks sort of frozen in a full-body flinch. “Yeah?” 

Aidan slams the door to the fridge shut, smirking at the sound of a handful of bottles rattling inside, and grabs the front of Josh’s shirt. “It was never about the fucking champagne.” 

He pulls Josh in for a kiss. He pauses just before their lips meet, suddenly uncertain. What if this is a mistake? He doesn’t have such a great record with good things himself. But then Josh closes the distance, and Aidan’s fear gives over to something so much better.

The way he’s kissing him, Aidan can taste the need on Josh’s lips. Josh’s hands seem to be everywhere: dragging through his hair, wrapping around the nape of his neck, pressing pleadingly against Aidan’s back. Aidan walks them backwards until Josh is pinned against the wall, burying his face into Josh’s neck. He can hear and feel Josh’s blood pumping, and the yearning that stirs up mixes with the deep desire fueled by Josh’s ragged pants and moans as Aidan kisses and licks. Aidan waits for the moment that Josh remembers that a _vampire_ is giving him hickeys and he freezes or flinches away, but it doesn’t happen. Still, Aidan worries, what if--

“Goddamn, that’s the good stuff,” Aidan hears from behind him. He pulls away from Josh’s kiss, takes a deep breath, and feels grateful that he can’t _murder_ a ghost.

Aidan turns to Sally, who at least has the decency to look chagrined. “What?” she says, with an elaborately innocent shrug. “The only thing on TV is infomercials and _The Newlywed Game._ This is the most entertaining thing in this house by a long shot.”

“Josh, maybe it’s time we head to bed,” Aidan says pointedly.

“Oh,” Josh says. He sounds disappointed. “Yeah…I guess we should.”

Aidan turns back to him, and registers the downcast eyes, the way Josh is folding back into himself, crossing his arms over his chest. Aidan smiles, because this version of Josh—the one where he recedes into himself like a shadow—is becoming a rarer sight every day.

“No, Josh,” Aidan catches him by the chin and pulls Josh’s gaze back to his own. Josh looks so careful, so uncertain, his brown eyes lively with worry. A reflection of how Aidan felt just a few minutes ago. Now, however… “I mean, _let’s go to bed._ ”

“Oh,” says Josh blankly. Then, his eyes widen, and Aidan can see how big Josh’s pupils have become. “Oh,” he says, and smiles wide.

Josh throws a finger at Sally. “You are _not_ invited. Seriously. No one likes a peeper ghost.”

Sally gives a dramatic sigh. “Squares,” she says, before dissipating.

Aidan looks at Josh. Josh looks at Aidan. And then they spend an unknowable of time crashing their way upstairs, stopping to strip off articles of clothing, throwing each other against the closest wall and furiously applying hungry mouths to exposed skin, and rolling hips together, desperate for contact.

By the time they make it to Josh’s room—Josh’s room because it’s the closest one to the stairs—they’re in their boxers, hard dicks pressing against fabric, hair mussed and lips raw. If Aidan had a heartbeat, it might be as loud as Josh’s is now. The sound hammers into his ears, calling up Aidan’s basest instincts.

He walks Josh backwards to the bed, still caught up entirely in the exchange of hot, breathless kisses until Josh hits the mattress and goes down like he’s made of brick. Josh is staring up at Aidan, his chest heaving with heavy breaths, his hands in mid-air like they can’t process the loss of contact and aren’t sure what to do with themselves.

Aidan has found a lot of success in his life when he turns off thought and allows his body to call the shots. Okay, he’s also had a lot of spectacular disasters that way, but at the moment, it’s the only thing he can do. His body brings him to his knees between Josh’s legs, commands him to kiss a steaming trail down Josh’s lean and muscular body, causing Josh to arch his back with breathy murmurs of “Oh my god, Aidan, oh my god.”

Aidan’s following his body’s direction to mouth against Josh’s straining dick inside his shorts, to finally peel off the last layer of clothing between them before standing to shove Josh down against the bed and climb over him, pulling Josh’s legs around his waist. Aidan lets out a groan at the feeling of Josh’s ankles locking behind his back.

“Aidan,” Josh says, shakily, pressing hands to either side of Aidan’s face. “I…I want you.”

Aidan thinks maybe he should question it. Thinks they should talk about what it all means. But those words from Josh’s lips— _I want you_. They’re intoxicating. Not just in a way that has a heavy heat glowing in Aidan’s hips, although that’s true, but exciting in an entirely different way. Exciting in way that feels a little bit like hope.

“How do you want me?” Aidan asks, and finds his voice is rough with want.

“I…” Josh swallows. His face is flushed, and his hands are still on Aidan’s face, thumbs aligning along his jaw. “Jesus. I…I want you to fuck me.”

Aidan can’t help the surprise bursting in him from showing up on his face.

“I—are you sure—have you—” Aidan takes a deep breath and tries to pick a sentence, if possible, a _good_ sentence. “Don’t you think that’s something we might want to work up to?”

Josh pauses, and tilts his head. Aidan watches a slow smirk appear on his lips. “You think it’s my first time, don’t you?”

This is absolutely what Aidan thought. It never crossed his mind it could be otherwise. Of course Josh has never been fucked before, not like this. He…well, he’s straight, and he’s…he color codes the refrigerator and secretly enjoys National Geographic. Josh is wholesome and pure. Except for that time last year when Josh sucked his dick and Aidan had thought maybe that was what Josh _actually_ went to MIT for—but then he was drunk on lust and the lunar cycle, so it didn’t even really count.

Josh pulls back from Aidan a little, looking at him incredulously. “Wow. You really think you’re some hot-to-trot sex vamp and I’m a prude white guy from the suburbs, don’t you?”

Aidan sits back on his heels, rests his hands on his thighs while he consults a mental map of how to navigate this particular conversation.

“First of all,” Aidan says, “I remember when people actually said hot-to-trot and that was many decades ago, and even then, it was dumb, and second of all, you _are_ a white guy from the suburbs.”

“Don’t do that,” Josh says, shaking a finger at Aidan and propping himself up on his elbows. “I am complex, Aidan Waite. I have _layers_. I have layers and…and…Nora had a strap-on.”

The map in Aidan’s mind is now ash, having first burst into flame.

Josh shrugs. “I know you think it’s just been Julia, Nora, and my right hand my entire life, but that’s not entirely true. I may not have 200 years of sexual experience under my belt, and yes, there has been some…semi-involuntary celibacy recently, but--I went to _college_ okay? I _experimented._ ”

The look on Josh’s face is almost defiant, his lips tight and his eyes alive, although his face is also glowing red. It’s not often that Aidan feels caught off guard, but this, he did not expect. For lack of proper brain functions, Aidan says, “Okay…”

“Is this why it’s been a whole year?” Josh asks, shaking his head at Aidan. “Because you think I’m some blushing virgin and you’re worried you’ll, like, sully my honor?”

“Of course not,” Aidan blurts. “I just don’t want to hurt you.”

And Josh’s mouth is suddenly shut, and Aidan realizes the depth of the truth in his own words. He reaches out, but drops his hand in front of himself. “I think it would kinda destroy me if I hurt you,” Aidan says, softly.

Josh picks up Aidan’s hand, and slowly, giving Aidan time to protest, brings it to his mouth to kiss each of Aidan’s fingers. His gaze meets Aidan’s, and it’s sweet, and tender, and Aidan savors the unbelievable novelty of that feeling.

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Josh says, and there’s no hint of doubt or question—which is surprising, considering this is Josh. “Okay? You’re not going to hurt me, Aidan.” He pauses. “That’s what lube is for.”

Aidan can’t help but laugh at Josh’s expression of mock seriousness. It occurs to him that no one has ever made him laugh the way that Josh makes him laugh. He doesn’t even bother to scold himself for that thought: Aidan has completely given up on not falling in love with Josh.

“Sooo,” Josh says, drawing little patterns on the rumpled comforter with one finger. “A little less hand wringing and a little more…hand—”

“Ugh, don’t say it—”

“—jobs?” Josh grins, clearly enjoying his terrible joke--enjoys it more when Aidan makes a show of how terrible it is with a loud groan.

“Alright, alright,” Aidan says, laying on his side next to Josh. “You’re so much more worldly and sexually awakened than I had figured—that’s what you’re telling me, right?”

There’s a brief flash of panic on Josh’s face before he smooths it over and says, “Yeah, man. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

Aidan gives him a smirk. “Then prove it.”

Josh does nothing for a moment, just stares at Aidan, letting their breath pool between them. Then, in a movement faster than Aidan expects, Josh’s hand is suddenly on the back of his head, pulling him into a kiss with no doubt, no hesitation, all raw and wanting.

What happens next becomes a blur in Aidan’s mind. He recalls feeling shocked and ridiculously turned on when Josh shoves him to his back and straddles him, laying his lips on Aidan’s mouth, neck, ears, shoulders—any surface he can reach, like he needs the taste of Aidan’s skin on this tongue. Aidan knows he or Josh managed to get the damn lube at some point, because he recalls the cool slipperiness of it as he slides it around Josh’s entrance. He remembers the softness of Josh’s pouting hole, the way it felt against his fingertips. He remembers gently working Josh until he’s writhing on Aidan’s fingers, lost in the feeling of it. Watching Josh ride his hand, his head tilted back and his long lean body sheening with sweat—Aidan cannot take it a moment longer.

He flips Josh onto his back, and savors the feeling on Josh’s fingernails in his back, urging him in, and Aidan lets out a sob of sweet pleasure as he feels his throbbing dick slip into the slick tightness of Josh. Sweaty forehead to sweaty forehead, skin to skin—Aidan is drowning in all the sensations of Josh. Even his scent is overwhelming. The vampires call it “wet dog” to be the haughty little shits that they are, but it’s never smelled like that to Aidan. Josh smells to him like the woods, campfire smoke, like rain and leaves, like a living body. He smells like a place Aidan would gladly live. Aidan allows himself to press his face into the crook of Josh’s neck and breath deeply as he rolls his hips forward, fucking Josh slow and deep.

“Christ, Aidan—Jesus,” Josh is whimpering, and the neediness, the desperate pleasure laced in it short-circuits Aidan’s brain. Aidan pushes them both forward, up the bed, until Josh isn’t laying down anymore but pressed between the headboard and Aidan, sitting on Aidan’s dick with his legs on Aidan’s thighs and caught around his waist. Josh’s arms go around his neck and he throws his head back, huffing out “Fuck,” as Aidan thrusts good and deep. Aidan’s hands roam up and down Josh’s body, drinking in the feeling of his skin. Aidan is tingling, his body filled up with a warm hum that he can feel in his muscles, his bones—he can feel Josh in his veins.

The thought crosses Aidan’s mind, a voice from his own internal hell, that reminds him that, sure, he might feel like he’s on the verge of an orgasm that’ll put him in the stratosphere, but there’s just one thing that would really get him all the way around the moon. Aidan tries to turn away from the thoughts, but a thundering heartbeat and Aidan can almost taste blood in his mouth. The thought lasts only a moment but it’s enough for his fangs to extend without his wanting them to.

Aidan looks at Josh and sees the shocked expression. There’s a moment of panic, and for a horrible second, Aidan is more afraid than he ever has been in his life. But he won’t bite Josh. It’s Josh. It’s also a werewolf. Aidan absolutely will not bite—he feels the blood longing already wash away in the moment.

Aidan’s about to reassure him, to explain it doesn’t mean what Josh thinks, when Josh’s face becomes resolute and he clamps his teeth into Aidan’s neck, which, for reasons Aidan doesn’t have time to consider, sends earthquake-waves of electric pleasure shooting down his spine straight to his dick and he barely has time to wring out Josh’s name as his hips are crashing up into the wet tight heat of him before he’s coming apart. Fucking into the safe sweet haven of Josh, and he feels Josh spurting hot strings of come between their bodies, gasping for breath.

For a moment, they’re draped against each other, struggling to return their breathing to normal.

“You bit me,” Aidan says, blearily.

Josh shrugs. “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“I wasn’t going to hurt you. It was…just an automatic reaction. You know, it’s like getting hard. Doesn’t mean you’re going to fuck someone.”

They begin to slowly untangle themselves, still panting and unsteady. “That’s not as reassuring as you think,” Josh says. “But, honestly, biting you…I guess it was instinct? I…mostly…knew you weren’t going to eat me…you weren’t going to eat me, right?”

“I wasn’t, I promise you, okay?” Aidan says seriously. He looks at Josh to make sure he understands, and Josh considers this, eyes tracing over Aidan’s face, and he nods. He and Josh have managed to arrange themselves side by side sitting on the edge of the bed. Aidan nudges Josh. “But if you’re lucky, maybe I’ll eat you next time.” Aidan adds some waggling eyebrows to make sure Josh catches the crude innuendo, and judging by his agonized groan, he does.

Aidan helps Josh down the hall, and even though Josh insists he’s fine, it’s clear he’s at least a little sore. They take turns cleaning up in the bathroom, and when Aidan starts to head towards his bedroom, Josh catches his arm and gives him a look, warm gaze under worried brow.

Aidan sighs. “You want me to sleep in your room?”

Josh gives a shrug.

Aidan narrows his eyes but obligingly shuffles along in the direction of Josh’s room. “Is this a territorial wolf thing?”

Josh smirks. “Oh yeah. You’re basically mine now. You give a werewolf an inch, and we’ll take a mile.”

“I gave you more than an inch.”

“God, you’re the worst.”

Soon, they’re wrestling for covers and jockeying for the optimal arrangement. They end up with Aidan on his back, Josh resting against Aidan’s shoulder with an arm slung across his middle. Aidan takes a chance on looking at Josh sleeping: the worry finally completely drained from his face, the lines of his body relaxed, his warm breath cascading over Aidan’s body, his hand at Aidan’s hip. Another version of Josh he hasn’t seen before, but instantly adores. Aidan intends to take his time in finding all the versions of Josh that he can, and he has a feeling they’re all going to be his favorite.


End file.
